


It's on Repeat

by iammisscullen



Series: I Can't Stop [2]
Category: One Direction
Genre: M/M, Very angst, zarry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-07 20:01:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3181310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iammisscullen/pseuds/iammisscullen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry calls Zayn EVERY day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's on Repeat

**Author's Note:**

> IDEK. I wanna throw myself in the ocean after creating this. I was seriously listening to Guardians of the Galaxy OST but this angst sprouted. It doesn't even connect. Ugh!

Harry grips at the phone in his hand. Tighter than necessary, it is what’s keeping his hand from shaking even further. So he holds the phone tightly, knuckles white from his clutch.

He dials. It’s on his _Favoutire_ so he didn’t have a hard time finding the number that he’s looking for. He stares at it for a while, looks at the combination of 11 digits that he knows by heart – etched in the core of his soul like a tattoo he will never be able to delete, a mark he will have for the rest of his life… for as long as he can breathe.

He taps _Call_ and he gazes at it to be sure that it did call before he puts his phone near his ear, listening for the familiar ring that he hears even in his sleep. And he waits as it rings.

_Riiiiiiinnnnggggg…._

_Riiiiiiinnnnggggg…._

_Riiiiiiinnnnggggg…._

He doesn’t get frustrated. He knows it before he even dials that it will ring, that it will continue to ring.

_Riiiiiiinnnnggggg…._

And this is the moment he also knows what is coming. Inevitable like always. Breaks his heart like always. Yet he lets it happen.

_Riiiiiiinnnnggggg…._

The final ring. And then…

_'Hello, you’ve reached Zayn’s phone.’_

The accent is thick, like Harry remembers it. He closes his eyes, hands gripping the phone near his ear even tighter than before that its shape would probably imprint on his hand.

_‘I can’t be reach at the moment.’_

Harry wants to say _Obviously_ and smile but instead a soft sob escapes his lips.

_‘Please leave your message after the tone.’_

There’s the beep that Harry waits for. And he should speak now. He should.

One second pass. Two. Three. Four. Five.

‘Hey, Zed,’ he begins and it takes the air out of his lungs just to say two simple words. ‘It’s me.’ Another pause to grab whatever air he can because he feels like the oxygen that passes his air pipe isn’t enough. ‘Again.’

There’s another long pause, a burn in his eyes he doesn’t want to recognise, an ache in his heart he doesn’t want to name – is afraid to name. If he’s like Zayn, he’d probably itch for a spliff right now because he needs to get high, to feel numb, to forget.

The phone on his hand is a lifeline he can’t let go but at the same time the albatross in his neck that keeps him from breathing. But this is all he has. So he takes it.

‘Just want to say that I miss you.’ He chokes back the tears and the sobs. He fights everything and keeps everything away but the loneliness and the hurt finds him still and gnaws at him, at his poor marred heart. ‘ _So much._ ’

He hopes that the two words say everything he can’t say over the phone, prays that it’s enough to even compete with every kisses and touches he has forgotten to give, wishes that the hidden _I still think of you at 3am when I can’t sleep because you use to make me tea before bed to help me rest well. I still have your shirt in my couch and those ridiculous glasses you love to wear when you read_ The Great Gatsby _because it’s your favourite book. I still haven’t fixed that hole by the door – that you’ve somehow managed to put by moving your easel to the next room. I still haven’t put the pieces of myself back together. I still love you. Just as much as before. And it still grows every day_ is clear in his voice – in those two little words.

He doesn’t say anything more. There’s nothing more to say. Nothing left that will make things right. And whatever right thing to say is useless when there’s nothing left.

And he’ll do it again tomorrow.

And the next day.

And the day after that because that’s all he gets – a voicemail, a short sound of Zayn’s lovely voice, a 10 second paradise that will knock him off for the rest of his waking hours. A minimal heaven for the burning fires of pain later.

Harry can’t even play dumb because he know what he’s doing, knows he have to pay for those short 10 seconds. But he does it anyway. _Every day_ because it’s worth it. Zayn is _always_ worth it – worth burning for, worth breaking for, worth dying for. So he’ll get his own heart out of his own chest if it means he could have Zayn – have _him_ back.

Tomorrow again Harry will have 10 seconds with Zayn: filling his lungs with air planet Earth could not produce, getting Harry’s blood flowing like someone’s beating his heart to pump more, injecting a high no drug can ever compete with, and easing the pain in his insides like no morphine can.

He will call again tomorrow even if Zayn’s phone just vibrates in Harry’s other hand.

 

_Fin._

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading.


End file.
